


A Flower of the East

by FactorialRabbits



Series: OC studies [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alcohol, Blood, Gen, Implied Murder, Uneditted, basically just one scene, it feels a bit more like 'spies' than 'rebels', life and death in the eastern lands, minor injury, spies?, written on the bus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 01:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18001199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FactorialRabbits/pseuds/FactorialRabbits
Summary: Narantsetseg's little brother might be on death row for treason, but it does not mean she is looking to lie low. Not when she has an apprentice to train and information to gather.





	A Flower of the East

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Rebels Against Sauron in the East (OCs)
> 
> This one is a little darker than some of the others in the series, and basically just freeze-frames one night of a handful of characters, their backstories and fates left (mostly) unknown for now.

Narantsetseg shifted the tray to balance it over one arm. The alcohol it carried was some unpleasant grape-wine from the Westerlands; she did not quite understand the obsession of the foreigners with it, only that it was her job to keep them happy.

Enkhjargal across the room rolled her eyes at her; most likely they were not even paying enough to cover the costs of importing such a thing.

Why they did not just drink the local alcohol was beyond her; their alcohol was sweet and pleasant, not… This.

Her tray empty, she collected up the used cups and took them back to the bar. Batbayar took them from her, refilling the tray as she adjusted her veils. Usually she would not serve in a veil, but it was necessary sometimes; Odtsetseg had been caught last week, and the chance of them noticing a familial resemblance was too high. She daren’t think too hard about what was happening to her little brother now; the gods had abandoned them, so there was no use praying for his speedy death.

When she returned, one of the men, off to one side and alone with Gantulga the mercenary captain, immediately snatched a glass from the tray. Quickly, she rebalanced it and suppressed the desired glare. 

“ _ So, on high is demanding I personally provide an entire company. Personally. Alone! _ ” his voice pitched strangely, speaking in the tongue Narantsetseg was not supposed to understand.

She did, of course, but that was besides the point. Nobody expected the hired help at the bar to be fluent in the tongue of the Westerlings. Enkhjargal was not quite so familiar with it, but from the way she shifted it was evident she understood something of it.

“ _ And you want me to help… _ ” the other gentleman leant back in his chair. Narantsetseg nearly expected him to stoke his beard from the tone, but instead he ran a finger around the edge of his glass, making an uncomfortable pitched wail. “ _ Where will we be headed? Rhoan again? _ ”

“ _ Minas Tirith in Gondor, he says. One final push to take everything and for all. Amassing all his men and armies. _ ”

The second man looked vaguely impressed, “ _ When? _ ”

“ _ Be ready to leave in a month; the army marches when the maples blossom. _ ”

The agreement between the two never quite formalised, and the conversation moved swiftly on to more mundane matters - the feeding of corvids, if she was correct - but she had heard enough to be useful.

She gave a long blink to Enkhjargal, and shifted her hand to display only the fourth finger around the tray. The other woman gave an even longer blink back.

A moment later, Enkhjargal moved to refill Gantulga’s glass with her jug of fermented milk. His foreign soon-to-be employed sneered at such a drink, and broke into fierce laughter when Enkhjargal tried to back up quickly and instead fell to the floor. 

The jug shattered all over her, and in the scramble to clean Enkhjargal cut her palms.

Narantsetseg winced as Enkhjargal did so, hurrying across to the girl’s side; blood had not been to plan, and neither had Gantulga’s foreign companion taking offence.

The companion stood up, using his full height to leer over the women. Narantsetseg put herself between Enkhjargal and the man, bowing to the floor and hastily stuttering out jumbled apologies.

Really, the slap should have been expected.

She grabbed Enkhjargal’s hand and fled to behind the bar; Batbayar frowned, waved them to the kitchen and stepped out with a few bottles to calm over tempers.

It would be fine; they always responded better to the male proprietor than the serving girls.

Narantsetseg gestured for Enkhjargal to sit down, murmering soft words as the girl worked herself down from tears and she searched for bandages.

Quietly she cleaned and wrapped the torn skin, softly kissing each cut as she was done. Once, long ago, her  _ hiril _ had done the same for her. Back before she had retired from the life to be a respected clan elder.

“I… I am sorry… I did not mean to-” Enkhjargal blurted out.

“The only harm done is to yourself; he is the sort to have been angry anyway,” Narantsetseg gently reassured. “I will be fine.”

Only once she was sure that Enkhjargal was calm did she slip over to the writing desk, taking out blank parchment. She hastily wrote what had been heard in the designated code and shorthand, signing it with the name she had been given and a small flower reaching towards the sun. Folding the paper she slipped it into her pocket, to send via bird next time she was out.

Later that night, the men would disperse and travel back towards town. Enkhjargal and Narantsetseg would stay on shift late, cleaning up as punishment for their ‘accident’ earlier in the day.

So if Gantulga and his companion were found dead on the roadside the next morning, throats slit and purses stolen, evidently it was a tragic act of violence and absolutely nothing to do with two serving girls from the inn they spent their evening at.

Evidently.

No matter what rumours may later be spread about them.


End file.
